


Trust Me

by HushTheNoise



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Don't remember where anymore, I think this was a prompt somewhere at some point, M/M, Warm Bodies AU, Warning for brain bits and standard zombie behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HushTheNoise/pseuds/HushTheNoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Corpses dominating the earth, Enjolras is one of the few survivors left. Grantaire is a Corpse unwilling to follow his nature for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grantaire, put the brain matter down

Day in, day out, same thing over and over. Wake up, wander, eat, sleep. He figures the routine might have killed him by now if he wasn’t already dead. Then again, routine might not even be a problem if he had a pulse like back in the day.

Well, he assumes. He can’t really remember who he was back in the day, which is probably for the better. Not that he doesn’t try to remember to back before he woke up like this, pulse-less and jonesing for human flesh, but he never has much success.

Sometimes a letter comes to him, vague and fleeting, like an itch whose origin he can’t really pinpoint to scratch. _R_. He wonders if it has something to do with his name, maybe...Eventually he decides it does, and keeps it. It gives him a strange sense of identity, like he’s not just another number among the undead horde. He’s kidding himself, of course.

He does have... _something_ akin to friends, though. Well, as friendly as they can be under the circumstances. He doesn’t know their names, or what they might have been like once upon a time. He met one of them when R literally tripped over him on the way to the food court one morning. He seems to end up in those situations often. Sometimes R’s found him half dangling over one of the rails in the second floor, or with his shirt caught on the escalator, he just has that kind of luck.

The other, R has always found peculiar as far as their kind is concerned. Most of the others would spend the day wandering from one end of the mall to the other, not really interested in much around them. This one, though, R will often find sitting among the overgrown patches of grass that have started reclaiming area around the large shopping center, flowers somehow tangled in his hair. Other times R will see him trailing up and down the aisles of a crumbling Borders, hands brushing the spines of dusty books that have gone untouched for far too long. Sometimes R will wonder what he might have been in another life. Maybe a writer.

Sometimes R wonders what _he_ might have been in another life, what he might have been like, what sort of job he might have had. Sometimes he thinks about leaving the mall for good and migrating elsewhere, finding somewhere new to be. Had he liked to travel? Maybe he’d been a businessman or a pilot? Try as he might to push through the dark shroud that hides his previous life from him, R can never remember so much as a fleeting moment.

His days are spent like that, shuffling through JC Penney, trudging through Linens n’ Things, sometimes bumping into his friends (literally), exchanging some unintelligible moans and grunts (out of the three of them, Flower Guy has the easiest time managing an occasional labored word in greeting).

And then there are the days when the hunger gets too strong to ignore, and five or six of them band together before setting off to wander through the deserted wasteland that R imagines was once a lively city. They’ve learned they have to hunt like this, added safety from the survivors that have guns and knives and don’t hesitate to pick them off. The Bonies are likelier to leave them alone if they’re outnumbered, too.

R hates seeing the Bonies, a constant reminder of what he’ll become one day if he gets tired enough of everything and just... gives up. Guiltlessly and mercilessly attacking anything that has the faintest of heartbeats, walking skeletons made of ashen bones. Sure, R has to eat the occasional wandering living person too, but.. at least he feels bad about it.

On this particular day, they’re almost past a rotting hospital when Eagle (as R teasingly thinks of his bald friend) stops in his tracks, head lifted as he sniffs at the air. It hits R a moment later, clear and distinct among a landscape where almost everything else is dead and decaying: _humans._

They pick up the pace together with single-minded determination, crossing the grounds and into the hospital as the the scent grows stronger, beckoning them to feed. It feels like a small group, four or five humans, maybe, and there are seven of them today. R knows at least one of them isn’t likely to come back from the hunting trip, the humans are stronger and faster and often armed. But he’d be lying if he said he hopes it’s not Flowers or Eagle.

He can hear them now as their little group shuffles down the deserted hallway that still somehow smells faintly of ammonia; the humans must be looking for pharmaceuticals to take back to wherever they’re all huddled in hiding, he’d run into other groups doing the same before.

They burst in through the double doors of the pharmacy, and for one moment, it seems as if they’ve caught the humans by surprise; R sees Eagle capture one of them in his vice grip before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of the brunette’s neck, blood coating his lips.

And then two bullets nail R right in the chest, sending him stumbling back but not taking him down. He manages to dodge the next three aimed at his head before reaching forward and sweeping the gun out of the terrified human’s hands. He sees the rest of the undead rush into the room, each with their sights set on anyone slow enough to catch, though the survivors have already killed at least one of them, possibly more. R knows he’d better grab his dinner to go if he wants to avoid having his brain splattered all over the floor.

Speaking of brains...

He lunges for the human that shot him, gripping him by the neck and slamming his head into the edge of the counter until R is sure he’s dead. The rest of the survivors seem preoccupied with fighting off the others, which gives R a little bit of time to duck back behind the counter and crack open his victim’s skull.

They can survive on any body part, and often when they’re pressed for time and opportunity, they just grab a few bites of an arm and book it. But the brain is what they’ll try for if they get even a sliver of a chance, because the brain holds all of the human’s memories, and when they consume it... well, it’s as close to remembering as R will ever get, as close to _alive_ as he’ll ever be again.

R doesn’t know how it works or why it happens; he only knows that sometimes he sees childhoods; birthday parties and slip’n’slides, gold stars on lined papers and bloody skinned knees. Other times he’ll hear buzzers sounding and crowds cheering at basketball games, the loud pop music of school dances, and marching bands at pep rallies. Sometimes he can almost _feel_ ; warm pats on the back and tender hugs laced with floral perfume, light kisses on his cheek and gentle hands braced against his chest.

The last ones leave him feeling an echo of pain he can never describe.

R figures he’ll just stash his pockets now, grab whoever’s left and leave before anyone else manages to get in a headshot, but the temptation is too strong and he slips a piece of the gummy, gray organ in his mouth and chews.

_A bedtime story by a roaring fireplace, wrapped in someone’s arms and feeling the safest he’s ever felt in his life -- and now it’s cold and the ground is a little further away and his feet are slipping back and forth on ice as he tries to gain his footing, while his sister laughs and skates lazy circles around him-- the scent of green grass beneath him as he peers up at the sky, the bright sun filtering through his fingers and a vague sense of fear filling him at the rumors he’s heard, of people dying only to come back to life all wrong-- Gunshots, sees Corpses trailing after him, coming closer and closer and his back against the blood-stained brick wall, and then a flash of red and gold and the Corpses are tumbling to the ground and he’s being pulled away to the walled city in the distance, safe for now-- The sun again... no, a person this time, bright and beautiful and full of light with fire in his eyes and passion in his words, rallying his friends to hope, to not give up, to keep fighting; this world is still theirs until they breathe their last..._

R is left dazed by the incandescent being before he’s harshly jerked back into awareness of the very present danger that surrounds him. He cautiously rises to his feet, and the commotion seems to have quieted down, the sound of bullets replaced by grunts and tearing and chewing. The fighting’s over, the scavenging humans either dead or escaped. In one corner he sees Eagle and Flowers settled around what was probably a very pretty blonde girl at some point...

He’s in no rush at this point, but he figures some of the living might still be lingering and it’s really better to just get out while they still can. He’s turning for the door when a flash of red catches his attention from the corner of his eye, He almost ignores it and moves on except... it moves. Someone still alive?

He cautiously shuffles over, figuring he can at least put them out of their misery and grab himself another handful of gray matter to go, when the figure suddenly pulls itself upright, pistol swinging up to aim directly for R’s head.

The Corpse finds himself rooted to the floor as his gaze locks with a pair of storm-blue eyes he saw only moments before in his victim’s memories. Memories that didn’t do its subject any justice, R is now realizing. Because the bruised, bloodied young man with the golden curls and the fierce glare who’s facing him, still fighting for his life, is a thousand times more captivating than any memory could convey.

The last thing on R’s mind now is food.


	2. Meat Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't play with your food, kids.

_Say something_ , he urges himself as he takes a couple of tentative steps forward, but all that comes out is a garbled groan, much to his frustration.

He hears the click of an empty gun, sees the frantic look the man-- _Enjolras_ , his victim’s memories helpfully supply, _his name is Enjolras_ \-- cast about his surroundings as he searches for another weapon, and still R manages to draw close, cornering Enjolras against the cabinets and crouching down to peer at him in faint awe.

Enjolras flattens himself against the cabinets as much as he can, jaw clenched tightly as he keeps his eyes glued to the Corpse that’s... examining him? And then he hears another sound, and there’s no way it means what he thinks it means because Corpses can’t communicate. But there it is again.

“Shhhhhhh.”

All R can think of is what will happen if any of the others discover Enjoras is still alive, how their hunger will destroy this blindingly bright thing in a dismally bleak landscape, and he doesn’t even know what he’s doing any more, but he knows he has to cover up the scent of _human_ before it gets him killed.

“What the fuck are you--”

Enjolras’ eyes follow the Corpse’s hand as it reaches down, dips into a wound one of the bullets made, and rises towards Enjolras’ cheek. He turns his head, nostrils flaring at the stench as he wonders what the hell is going on, whether this is some new way for the infection to spread. Moments later, the Corpse is drawing back slightly, having made sure Enjolras’ face is well-smeared with his decomposing innards. The Corpse opens his mouth to speak, and Enjolras expects more of the unintelligible moaning from before, but his face twists in confusion and surprise as the sounds seem to string themselves together into broken, halting... _words._

“Y-yo---u... s-s-safe.”

R is afraid Enjolras is going to shake him off and run when he reaches for his shoulder and starts to pull him to his feet, eager to get him out as quickly as possible. He doesn’t even know if his plan will work, but considering none of the others have noticed Enjolras yet, he figures it’s best not to push his luck and move.

Enjolras  tenses beneath R’s hands as he stands, eyes darting around at the other undead in the room. He lets R lead him towards the door, equal parts in shock and morbidly curious. This Corpse isn’t like any he’s ever encountered; none of them have ever spoken or come at him with any intention other than eating him before, and he’s honestly at a loss as to how to deal with the entire situation. But he’s weaponless, and his friends are either dead or hiding out. Maybe this way he stands a chance of getting outside where he can run or get his hands on a crowbar or something.

R sees the others slowly catch up and join them as he and Enjolras slowly amble out of the hospital, his hand locked around Enjolras’ wrist as he leads him forward. He knows this is a fucking terrible plan that could go south at any moment should so much as a sunshower strike, but something in him just can’t abandon Enjolras to the wasteland, or worst of all, to the Bonies. The thought of encountering Bonies on the way back to the mall makes R nervous; even with the coating of blood and guts and the four other Corpses surrounding them for an additional layer of life-concealing death, R’s not certain that the fact that one in their group has a heartbeat would go amiss.

Enjolras is... well, he’s honestly surprised that he’s still alive. The gravity of it all hasn’t really sunk in yet, and he’s aware that he’s probably somewhat in shock. He does test the Corpse’s grip once or twice, but it’s tighter than he’s willing to risk breaking; he’s managed to survive this far, he’s not interested in learning what might happen if he challenges the Corpse and exposes himself to the rest of the pack.

The sun is starting to settle in the west by the time the mall starts to loom close, and Enjolras doesn’t really know how long they’ve been walking but he’s starting to hope that part comes to an end really soon. The chaos of the day has left him drained and exhausted, and he’d really like nothing more than to sit for awhile and maybe plot a way out of this mess.

The rest of the pack drifts off one by one as they cross the parking lot, though the Corpse that has him by the wrist presses onward into the deteriorating shopping center.

Enjolras curls a bit into himself as they make their way through clusters of Corpses, the majority ignoring him as they meander through the mall. But every so often, a Corpse will seem to catch a whiff of his scent and turn, as if searching in confusion for the source of warm blood and tender flesh.

The unwanted attention doesn’t elude R, who livens his step just a little more as they head for the west end of the mall, an area that stays oddly deserted the majority of the time. He’s grateful they’ve managed to avoid Bonies all this time, but even so he won’t relax until he has Enjolras safe. He’ll mull over the peculiar why later.

They reach a Starbucks, one of the twenty in the city that used to draw daily crowds in search of a morning perk. Now its abandoned tables are cluttered with books and paintings, CDs scattered across the counter and bottles of what appear to be liquor resting on the floor.

R leads Enjolras to a plush, dark green couch, gently pushing him to sit before finally releasing Enjolras’ wrist. Enjolras rubs the skin there gingerly as he watches the Corpse shuffle back to the entrance, kneeling down by the door and pressing a switch on a small mechanism attached to the wall.

Enjolras isn’t sure if he feels better or worse as he watches the large metal panel lower over the entrance with a creak, sealing him in with this Corpse, but keeping the rest of the others out. At least the mechanism to open the door can’t be all that difficult to manage if a Biter can operate it without trouble. But the grate is power-operated, the building still has electricity, it seems. Solar generators, maybe? He knows a few of the major establishments had been in the process of switching over to earth-friendly power sources before the catastrophe happened. Enjolras had been so ecstatic when he’d read of it, picturing a future free from pollution and where humanity coexisted peacefully with nature.

This... wasn’t really what he’d had in mind.

There’s a green blanket folded on top of one of the love seats, and R picks it up as he makes his way back to Enjolras, who hasn’t moved since he sat. The human is watching him with what R recognizes mostly as disgust and confusion, and it unsettles him how pleased he is that the fear seems to have drained almost entirely from Enjolras’ face. He doesn’t want him to be afraid, R would never hurt him.

He holds the blanket out to Enjolras, who stares at it as if it might bite him for a few moments before finally reaching up and taking it, setting it down slowly beside him. He continues to look up at R, forehead creased and eyes searching until R shifts uncomfortably in place, wondering if maybe he should leave Enjolras to get some rest. They did walk a few miles, and he doesn’t know if humans have the same sort of resilience that the undead do.

R ambles to the counter where a small sound system rests, a finger rising to press the power button. Soft music that Enjolras and his friends would call “moldy oldies” back before the world collapsed fills the small cafe, leaving the human even more puzzled by R’s strange behavior. He’s caught on to the fact that the Corpse doesn’t seem to want to make him into a meal, at least not yet, though that still doesn’t leave him much room to breathe and the situation looks pretty dismal from every angle he can see at this point.

Finally he speaks, and his voice sounds strange in his own ears after going so long without saying a word.

“Why did you bring me here?”

R turns to face Enjolras, the prospect of conversation (as one-sided as it might be) drawing him back towards the couch.

It’s a struggle that takes him seconds longer than he’d like, figuring which words might come easiest to him and then forcing his mouth to make those sounds. It’s a step forward, though, monosyllabic words over the few vowels he’d only been able to manage before. He wonders if Enjolras has something to do with that.

“Ss-safe -- h-here.” He tries to convey as much as he can in those two words, unnervingly blue eyes full of sincerity. He’s not going to kill Enjolras, he can’t bring himself to, no matter how bad the hunger might get. And he won’t let anything else harm him either. But for R to protect him, Enjolras has to stay here, in this decrepit old Starbucks surrounded by peeling wallpaper and aging paintings. But more importantly, R just doesn’t want to see him go.

Enjolras shakes his head, a lock of blond hair falling over his forehead in the process.

“I can’t stay here, I need to go back, everyone will be looking for me,” he says, though he knows that’s a lie. If anyone went back to try to find him, it’s likelier that they’ll just report him dead rather than missing. In these times, when someone disappears, no one’s optimistic enough to think they’ll remain alive for long. Most of them probably think he became a Corpse and wandered off.

R mimics Enjolras’ gesture, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

“N-not...yet.” He knows that realistically he can’t hold Enjolras captive forever, and that even if he tried, it’s likely he’ll find some way to escape anyway. The most he can hope to do is delay him for a while, maybe try and get Enjolras to warm up to him a little so he can learn more about him ( _Sure, **that’ll** happen,_ a sardonic, traitorous voice whispers in his mind).

Enjolras isn’t stupid. He knows that he stands the best chance of making it back home if this peculiar Corpse helps him through the wasteland. If he has to stick around for a day or two until he can convince him to take him back to the city, he can certainly do that.

“All right, not yet. Then when?” he asks, and he didn’t even know Corpses could express emotions, but that is definitely hesitation he is picking up on now.

“...Three...d-days?”

_Are you asking me or telling me?_ Enjolras almost shoots back, until he realizes that it-- he? -- is doing both. He is giving Enjolras the option of haggling.

With a Corpse.

What the hell kind of Twilight Zone has he stepped into?

“...Three days, then,” Enjolras finally replies with a weary sigh. He can last three days here, cooped up in an abandoned Starbucks with a Corpse that doesn’t plan to eat him, surrounded by other Corpses that definitely will first chance they get. Yeah, no big deal.

R nods to show he understands. “O-k--kay.” Three days gives him time, who knows what can happen in three days. Maybe he’ll figure out a way to get Enjolras to stay. Maybe Enjolras will choose to stay ( _Hah,_ whispers the cynic in him again). Three days is better than none.

The silence stretches between them as Enjolras taps his fingers together, casting another glance around his temporary home (or his final resting place, depending on how optimistic he’s feeling), before glancing over at R again.

    “So...” He clears his throat, figuring that after the way the Corpse has acted, it’s only polite to ask. Jesus, _polite_. To a _Corpse_. At this point, nothing else can really surprise him today. “What’s your name?”

    R gives him a faint frown as he shrugs his shoulders.

    “You don’t remember?” They’ve always known that the Corpses don’t remember anything about their former lives when they’re reanimated, but he figured maybe this one...

    Another beat of hesitance, and then-- “Aaarrrrrrrr.”

    It takes Enjolras a moment to understand. “R? That’s what you remember.” A nod from the Corpse confirms, and Enjolras absently combs his fingers through his curls. “Well, I suppose it’s as good a name as any. Mine... Mine’s Enjolras. Although I guess it’s kind of a mouthful for you, huh?” Is he really having this conversation? Maybe he’s actually dying back in the hospital pharmacy and this is all some sort of near-death hallucination as the Corpses devour his brain...

    “En...j-jol...rrrrrras?” R is actually pretty damn proud of himself. Multiple syllables and a tricky ‘r’ that’s almost a rattle, he needs to show Flowers that one next time he sees him. But now he can see a very faint smile at the edge of Enjolras’ lips and anything else that might have been on his mind slips away.

    “Good enough,” Enjolras replies approvingly, just as a loud rumble resonates between the two of them, giving him pause. “So R, don’t suppose you’ve got anything to eat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear at some point I'll figure out how to make it veer from the original plot, but until that day...   
> Comments will be salted and happily eaten. Come hang with me at hushthenoise.tumblr.com.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for a while, so I'm going to start posting it in pieces in hopes that I'll force myself to finish it.


End file.
